


Der Metzgermeister

by Silent_So_Long



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: trope_bingo, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 08:23:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silent_So_Long/pseuds/Silent_So_Long
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor, Sif and Loki face down an infestation of cannibalistic mutants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Der Metzgermeister

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the “au: apocalypse” square on my trope_bingo card. Thor, Sif and Loki are human in this fic, and not the Asgardian warriors we all know and love. The title of the fic comes from the German term for “the master butcher.”

The city streets were quiet around Loki as he stole through ranks of haphazardly placed cars - some were neatly parked by the sides of the road as they should be, while still others had plainly been driven by out of control drivers, crashing willy-nilly into various obstacles by the side of the road, even other vehicles in the case of a few BMW’s, and a black Audi. 

Loki felt as though a thousand eyes were watching him, bloodthirstily gleaming in the darkness of a thousand shadows. Sif, although remaining silent, was also on the alert, strong body poised as though waiting for attack, sword drawn and glinting in the low sunlight.

It was almost dark, day winding down into a twilight that was a warm, oddly languid shade of violet-pink dimming down to orange on the horizon. Loki almost assumed that it was a normal night, but the devastation around him told a different story. All around him was a thousand reminders that the Metzgermeisters were still prevalent. The buildings were no longer the bustling relics they should have been; each brick built edifice was like a tomb to the infected dead and the dearly departed. 

The Metzgermeisters themselves had been human once upon a time, the damaged results of scientific tests run awry, or so Loki and his fellow survivors were led to believe. He found that story hard to swallow however; if they’d been human once, then it had been somewhere in the very distant past. No one could remember who’d first coined the phrase Metzgermeisters; that knowledge seemed as ancient as the cannibalistic mutants themselves. All anyone really knew was that some long-forgotten person with an attempt at dry wit had used the German term for master butcher to refer to the cannibalistic mutants that lived in their midst; the joke had long since worn flat as the population became slowly decimated, leaving the streets mostly empty bar the brave few and the Metzgermeisters themselves.

Each Metzgermeister was stronger than a human, imbued with superpowers unlike any human should ever possess, and with the voracious appetite for flesh that could put even the mythical zombie to shame. Fandral had once joked that the Metzgermeisters were like cannibalistic X-Men on speed, right before the one he’d jokingly dubbed as Wolverine had run him through with wicked sharp claws and a ferocious snarl. 

Thor had killed that sharp-clawed Metzgermeister, vengeful screams filling the air around him, yet it had been too late for the beleaguered Fandral; he’d died later that night, bravely laughing and joking to the end. His death had hit them all hard, even Loki, who had not always seen eye to eye with the blond man; he wasn’t the only one to miss Fandral’s boundless energy and his near-constant stream of quips that hid a brave heart. 

Hogun, of course, had been the next to go, being the closest to Fandral, he’d been the one most affected by the other’s death and had developed a near suicidal death wish. Loki still remembered his death scream as one of the Metzgermeisters had leapt to consume his flesh. 

Loki whirled as he thought he heard a sound behind them; Sif had also heard the noise, movements slower and more carefully measured, sword glinting in the dying light that drifted in lazy dust motes and garbage around them. The noise came again, emanating from somewhere behind them and they whirled; that time, Sif was the faster one, dark hair sailing through the air like a long whip of energy that seemed to scream of the frustrated strength that lay coiled within her body. Loki snarled, a silent grimace of anger and fear that transformed his face into something feral and vicious. 

His fingers flexed upon the sceptre he still carried, an unwieldy thing he’d found in a department store that had seen him through battle; he had even managed to behead one of the Metzgermeisters that had almost threatened to eat his brother with it. Thor, of course, had been obstinately proud and insisted that Loki had managed to finish the job that Thor himself had been mere seconds from doing himself; this was despite the fact that Thor himself had been unaware of attack at the time, brawny shoulder turned away and eyes trained elsewhere, as a particularly hungry and lightning wielding mutant had stormed up to him on silent predator feet. Loki had been proud of his kill despite Thor’s affected arrogance all the same. 

The attack when it came was unexpected in its direction, as a mutant bulled out from the left of the road, hefty body connecting solidly with Sif’s own and dragging her to the ground with a gargled scream. Sif lashed out with her sword, battling as bravely as she knew how with her indomitable spirit; Loki joined the fight, avoiding lashing tail and spitting angry cat curses from the feline like Metzgermeister that had attacked Sif.

“Duck, brother,” Thor’s voice suddenly yelled from the side and Loki did as he’d been ordered.

Despite the differences that lay thick between them,. Loki knew that it would be wise to heed Thor in heat of battle; Thor might be a lot of things, too arrogant, too loud, too over given to pomp and pride, yet he was the best warrior and tactician that Loki knew, proving himself again and again against the mutants, unfailing in his kills and with his steady hand. Loki was secretly proud and in awe of him, yet hid that behind a cool air of diffidence and sneering asides, pushing himself onto further efforts of his own. He was cunning and devious where Thor was strong and bullish, and he fought in a different way, notching up almost as many kills as Thor himself. Sif was not so far behind yet that day even she was struggling against the weight of the Metzgermeister bearing down upon her, threatening to strip flesh from bones with feline teeth and feline claws and hissing mad-cat energy. 

Thor’s hammer whistled through the air and landed against the mutant’s skull with a loud thunk, splitting bone from muscle; the Metzgermeister had time to yowl once before it flipped to the side, transferring his weight away from Sif onto the ground and freeing her. Sif immediately stood, sword held out to the mutant’s throat, yet the Metzgermeister was still, eyes staring sightlessly at nothing and everything. Loki reached out and laid one slender hand upon Sif’s wrist; her skin was warm against his much cooler fingers.

“It’s over,” he said, quietly, and even that quiet platitude shattered the peace and the moment.

Sif’s jaw was tight when she looked at him, yet she nodded, before her hazel eyes slid to Thor.

“Thanks,” she said, with a nod at him, a gesture that was as curt as it was grateful.

Thor merely grunted, bright blue eyes scanning the deserted streets about them for signs of further mutant activity, yet nothing moved. It seemed as though they were all alone for the moment; he hefted the bag of food they’d stolen from an abandoned store from one shoulder to the other. He picked up his hammer from the ground and nodded once more at Loki and Sif.

“We’ve handled this. Let’s go before more come,” he said, curtly. 

Loki was the first to nod and the first to fall into step beside Thor when the blond man began moving. Sif was quick to join them, hazel eyes shifting endlessly as though suspicious of further attack. None came, and they passed through ravaged streets unchallenged and alone. They reached the relative safety of that day’s shelter, cracking open unmarked tins and heating spaghetti and meat over the open flames of a hungry fire. That was a rare day when their hunt for food was successful, stomachs filled comfortably enough for them to sleep well that night, ready to face another day again, filled with the ever constant threat of the Metzgermeisters.


End file.
